


Witness To It All

by FollowTheRainbows



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, F/M, voyerism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:36:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9342629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FollowTheRainbows/pseuds/FollowTheRainbows
Summary: Scarlett is his best friend, the only reason he's survived so long in college so far, what with his aversion to actually going to the store. But even friends have boundaries... until they all come crashing down. It was an honest mistake, she knew that. She'd just  been stopping by. She hadn't meant to see what he was doing, was appalled with herself for standing there and watching. And then she hears something that falls off his lips that changes everything she thought she knew about their relationship.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a Sam!AU that I wrote a while back, but I haven't actually gotten around to finishing. I've changed the ending a bit (to compensate with the fact I haven't actually written the ending) but I may write a second chapter to finish up what happens. As you can tell from the tags, it's smutty as hell, with a tad bit (who am I kidding) of voyeurism, so if that makes you uncomfortable, I would suggest not reading. Enjoy.

I don’t bother to knock as I enter the apartment. I’ve barged into Sam’s apartment unannounced enough that knocking would just be unnatural. In fact, I’ll have to remind him to start locking his door more unless he wants to get robbed. His apartment, as usual, is insanely messy, with dishes, although clean, piled haphazardly around his sink, and various magazines and text books are splayed open on the dining table and on his sofa and coffee table. I even bend down to pick up a t shirt that was disregarded to the floor, probably after being worn more than once, in true bachelor style. If it wasn’t for the fact I had a washer-dryer set at my place, I doubt Sam would have any clean clothes left.

I toss my backpack and the small plastic bags I brought from the grocery store a few blocks away on the table and go to assess how poor of a condition his kitchen is in. His refrigerator, I realize with a worn out sigh, is mostly bare, save for a package of sliced ham, a bottle of mustard, a nearly empty case of beer, and milk that is out of date by a week and a half.

I dump the milk into the sink, pressing my nose into my elbow to keep from gagging from the smell, before delivering it to the trash, where it belongs. I throw the few items I bought for him into the various drawers, cupboards, and frozen sections where they’re supposed to be before carefully stacking his dishes and putting them in a cabinet.

I swear, if it wasn’t for me, this boy would live in a constant state of distress and anarchy.

The television in the living room is on but the volume has been completely turned down. On the screen flashes some breaking headline about some celebrity couple or another. I reach across the back of his couch for the remote, noticing his phone lying face down and nearly falling between the couch cushions. I grab it as soon as the television is off and take a look at it.

**Two Missed Calls – Scarlett** , reads his screen, meaning he doesn’t know I was headed here after I got off of work, which I called to tell him. You’d think that after being friends with the guy for three years, I’d learn not to be surprised by him not answering his phone.

I sigh, picking up a few more scattered pieces of clothing as I go to throw them into his room, when I hear something. Although I can’t place the song, I definitely hear music playing, something with a strong bass line and smooth melody. As I creep down the hallway towards Sam’s room I try to calm my racing mind.

_All signs point to it being Sam_ , my logical mind reasons. _His phone was here. Since when has he ever left home without his phone? Besides, what person breaks into someone’s house just to listen to their music collection?_

The less sound, much more frantic part of my mind screams back in response, _PSYCHOPATHS do! You’ve watched enough murder-mysteries to know what’s going on in that room – a dangerous, machete wielding, cold blooded killer has cut off poor Sam’s feet and is using the music to cover the sounds of blood –_

I cut my thoughts off there, determined not to let my imagination get the best of me. The door is cracked and I’m a mere three feet away so I won’t have to wait long to find out if Sam decided to work out to rock music and didn’t hear me come on or the much more drastic and deadly second option.

As I take the final few steps before I’ll be able to peak into the room, I contemplate how much damage the few items of clothing I have in my hand could do to a machete-wielding-maniac. I take a deep breath before stealing a glance into the room and…

I let my breath out slowly, relieved, when I see Sam sitting in his room swaying to the music. See, my rational mind taunts, it was completely useless to get all worked up when Sam is safely in his room listening to – _OHMYFUCKINGGOD! WHAT IS HAPPENING, WHAT AM I SEEING, OH DEAR GOD OH_ –

Just as I was about to step into his room and drop his clothes before making a joke about his shitty music taste, my mind goes reeling when I realize that Sam’s not just _sitting_ in his room _swaying_ to the _music_. I can feel my heart in my throat as I try not to stumble back into the wall and scream in surprise. My feet seem glued to the ground, while the rest of my body is flying off kilter as my mind tries to make sense of the scene in front of me.

Sam – shirtless – sitting on the edge of his bed – listening to loud rock music – wearing those dark jeans I helped his mom pick him out for Christmas – but the jeans are unbuttoned – and unzipped – and in Sam’s hand is – Oh god, this is horrible – as he gently moves his large hand up and down – and his head lulls to the side just slightly – and I stand in the doorway completely petrified and unable to move.

Sam doesn’t seem to notice the change in the song, as he continues stroking himself with his eyes shut at the same pace, but I do. I feel hyper aware of every little detail, absorbing information I will never need and should have no interest in. _No you shouldn’t_ , my mind whispers as my heart beat quickens, but I can’t seem to pull myself away. Even my mind, despite my shock and protests seems attached to the scene in front of me.

The song is slower than the first one, but somehow stronger, the large swells of the instruments push themselves at me and flood into my senses. Sam’s hand moves at a slow pace, moving up and down his shaft with deliberate strokes, not ever giving himself a more forceful stroke, which, in my mind, would be much more satisfying. In my experience, which isn’t particularly limited, guys want as much as they can as quickly as they can when it comes to sex.

Of course, I’ve never seen a guy in such a private setting, never seen one masturbating, but most guys seem to follow that principle. But this… what Sam’s doing and the quiet and wanting noises that slip out of his mouth, reminds me of the best scene in the best romance movie any girl has seen and imagined sex being like. _Making love_.

The beat of the music seems to have no effect on Sam pleasing himself, instead it reminds me of a cross beat, which Sam once described to me when he tried to teach me a little bit about musical composition. _Think of it of a note between a note_ , he said, smiling at my complete and utter confusion. _See?_ He asked as he tapped his foot with a deliberate rhythm and tapped his leg in the moment of silence in between. I’d laughed it off, calling him a nerd, but now it made sense.

_Of course_ , my mind laughed, _of course it would only make sense to you as you watch your best friend jack off in his room without him knowing you’re there._ I try to ignore my mind’s completely justified disgust, even though I know what I’m doing is so beyond wrong. No matter how hard I try, I can’t move a single muscle in my body, save for my heart which is pounding erratically.

I watch as sweat is beading across his chest and forehead, glistening there, and making his toned stomach look even more attractive. It’s evident from the way his body is reacting that he wants more, needs more, but he’s determined. He continues moving up and down his quivering member at the same slow pace despite the slight shake in the hand sitting beside him on the mattress. His breathing is becoming more ragged and it seems all he can do to keep going. My breathing seems to be matching his in raggedness, though for a very different reason.

_Oh really?_ My mind questions as I suddenly realize something is different. Now that I’m past my initial surprise, _my_ body has begun responding to Sam’s deliberate actions. There’s a dampness between my legs that I know shouldn’t be there, that I shouldn’t allow or let continue but I stay and watch, now seated by my own desires.

All in all, Sam has been rather quiet, especially since I know he’s pushing himself physically as his cock, far more impressive than I always assumed, swells in his hand, practically begging for more, for release. My breath is coming out as a pant and I’m surprised he hasn’t heard me here yet. I realize just how occupied in his own thoughts he is when he lets out a moan from deep inside his chest, one of the few signs of pleasure he’s shown despite his dick twitching in his hand, edged on by whatever is playing on in his head.

He almost completely stills the movement of his hand, taking several deep breaths, and I’m sure I’ve been found out, lurking outside his door, as I watch on intently as the pressure between my thighs grows more and more intrusive. I’m relieved – for more than one reason – when I realize he’s just gaining his composure, not allowing himself too much pleasure, before he continues.

When he resumes, it’s at the start of yet another song, this one with a thrilling guitar solo at the beginning, but Sam is so far in his own fantasy, he doesn’t seem affected by it. He starts off by rubbing his thumb flatly against his tip, groaning rather deeply and tipping his head back, and tracing his slit once, which nearly causes his hips to buck, but he catches himself before. His hand glides back down his full length, aided by a slight amount of pre-cum, and he forces himself to wait almost a complete half minute before gently moving his hand back up half way and back down again.

His movements are all so deliberate that I’m honestly surprised. I can’t possibly begin to fathom why he would do this to himself, why he would make himself wait so long before he could get what I know he really wants. Hell, even when _I_ masturbate I don’t prolong it, because the high is the best part by far.

As my mind shifts gears slightly from the spectacle in front of me to the thought of me touching myself, I find that my little fantasy is intruded. I can’t imagine giving myself that high I love so much; instead, it’s _his_ hands caressing me, _his_ fingers putting pressure in all the right places. It’s _Sam_ I imagine making me come.

I have to bite my lip to keep from groaning in sync with him as he strokes several times all the way up and back down his shaft, where a vein stands prominent, pushing out with every beat of his heart, and I feel good knowing it’s as fitful as mine. It’s clear that Sam won’t be able to hold out for much longer, no matter how much he pushes himself to wait. He’s not able to control his body’s shuddering any more and more than once he’s given a loud and hearty moan.

I know I should turn and leave, not only because I’ve already crossed so many lines and completely destroyed any sense of privacy Sam might’ve once had, but also because something in me feels that it would be particularly sadistic of me to stay and watch him finish. Who am I to invade his fantasy of making love to a very lucky girl, and to steal the best moment of the entire experience from her – whoever she is – even if I was the only person to know about it? Some part of me just can’t justify taking that away from Sam, even after I’ve taken so much by standing here and watching as he pulses in his hand, while his mind is in some faraway place inside of a faraway girl.

I prepare to gently step back, to be as quiet as possible so as not to give myself away. I plan to drop his clothes onto the couch before I leave and grab my things and go. Sam would never have to know I was here. It would be my secret, something I would only think of in my moments of weakness, with my hand dipped into my underwear, circling and circling and wishing it was Sam –

I take a steadying breath as I try to push those thoughts away and calming the frenzied pulsating deep inside me. _Okay_ , I think, _this is it. I’m going to turn and walk away… right after this one… last... glance…_

Sam is coming completely undone and there is nothing he can do to stop it. Despite his slow and even rhythm, his cock has found pleasure and is ready to come apart at the seams, and there is next to nothing Sam will be able to do about it. It’s all he can do to keep his hips pressed against the mattress as he puts pressure on his other arm to keep him upright. He can no longer control any of the things coming out of his mouth.

“Fuck – oh my…” part of his sentence is smothered by his teeth tearing into his lip. Several guttural groans erupt from deep inside him, down right animalistic. Despite of the beauty in front of me – and believe me this has been by far the best part – I slowly turn my body, being careful not to breathe too heavily. Just as I’m about to take my first step away, I hear something that stops me in my tracks.

“Scar…” My breathing hitches as my mind starts racing again, full of dirty thoughts and hopeless fantasies. _No_ , my mind tells me sternly. _Be reasonable! Turn and leave. NOW!_ But I don’t listen. I turn slowly back around to face him, not quite daring to believe what I want to be true. I run through a list of words, trying to figure out a more logical answer, because surely I must be wrong.

“Oh fuck,” he mutters again, “oh fuck, Scarlett.”

As soon as my name falls from his lips, my lungs pull in a sharp, unwarranted, intake of air. A _loud_ intake of air, and the clothes, _Sam’s_ _clothes_ , that I’ve been clinging to for dear life, fall out of my arms, making small thuds as they hit the floor.

I’m officially out of control of my body as I stand there, arms dangling at my side, mouth open, barely registering how fully I’ve fucked up. Thankfully, though, I soon realize how _huge_ of a mistake I’ve made when Sam’s eyes go flying open.

“Oh shit,” he says, his tone no longer smooth with ecstasy. Instead, his is a tone of complete and unadulterated horror. He attempts to quickly stuff himself back into his pants and get them fastened as quickly as possible – he obviously doesn’t realize that I have been staring at his dick for so long I could draw it from memory – but he doesn’t have to worry, because I turn and start to run down the hall and out of his apartment as quickly as I can.

“Wait!” He calls after me after getting his pants on. “Scarlett! I can explain.” I hear him behind me, right before he nearly slips and falls on his clothes now on the floor. I turn and dare a glance back at him as he scurries to get back to his feet. “Scarlett, please can we just talk about this before you –”

As I head towards his front door, not even bothering to try and grab my bag, my mind fails to keep up. The only image I can see is Sam, hand on his cock, muttering my name. That’s when I realize that it’s not the running that’s making my breathing so spastic or my heart do somersaults in my chest.

Luckily, Sam hasn’t managed to grab me yet, as my only thought, other than the ones entranced in what I just witnessed, is to get far, _far_ , away from here, and I’m only a mere stride or two from the door. Sam’s still calling after me, “Please, Scarlett, just stop. Please, I can explain, I can –”

My hand is already on the door knob, yanking it open. I dare a glance back as I step out into the hall, seeing Sam, his face bewildered and embarrassed, watching after me as he attempts to catch me before I flee from his apartment. I've stepped into the hall, attempting to shut the door behind me when Sam goes flying into the piece of wood, slamming it. I hear him mutter obscenities, but I don't stay around long enough after that to hear anything else.

I practically fly down the steps, heart in my throat, trying to ignore the warmth between my legs.  _What the fuck have I done? What the fuck am I going to do?_

The entire time I walk home, only one thing is on my mind. Sam, in his room, touching himself, whispering my name.  _What the fuck am I going to do?_

**Author's Note:**

> Well, like I said, not the original intended ending. However, feel free to leave Kudos and Comments, and I will definitely get on writing a part two for this. I might even post the original ending after, depending on what you all think about it. Thanks for reading!


End file.
